


into you

by rire



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Humor, M/M, Porn With Plot, as of ep 8 anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8648065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rire/pseuds/rire
Summary: Seung Gil likes JJ best with his mouth wrapped around his cock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> don’t let the summary fool you, this isn’t a pwp it's going to have plot and feelings you have been warned
> 
> i can’t believe it’s only been a day and i’m already so deeply in love with a ship that hasn’t interacted. please join my prayer circle for jjseung interactions in ep 9
> 
> edit: thank you based kubo for giving us the canon fact that seung-gil smiled because of jj once. i am eternally grateful

Seung Gil likes JJ best with his mouth wrapped around his cock.

For one, it’s the only way to get him to shut up. It seems like he’s always running his mouth, spewing long speeches about how great he is. He’s exactly the kind of person Seung Gil hates, and, under normal circumstances, would never associate with.

Except for the fact that JJ is surprisingly and undeniably good at sucking cock. Here, perched on the edge of his hotel bed, pants bunched around his ankles, Seung Gil is not above admiring the sight of Jean Jacques Leroy on his knees. And he’s definitely not above admitting that _damn,_ JJ really knows what Seung Gil likes, licking slowly up the side of Seung Gil’s cock and looking up at him through hooded eyes, smirking a little before taking him all the way in, all at once.

Seung Gil feels a shudder run through his whole body, an electric current. He tightens his hold in JJ’s hair, and says, “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” JJ says, pulling off and licking his lips with a smirk. “Let’s.”

 

-

 

Logically speaking, this whole thing should never have happened. He didn’t pay much attention to rumours, but it was inevitable in the sport to pick up on a few when the top skaters were so well-known, and the ones he’d picked up on about Jean Jacques Leroy were less than pleasant. And when they met at the Rostelecom Cup in Russia, the first thing that came out of JJ’s mouth sealed Seung Gil’s dislike of him.

“I heard you don’t have any friends,” JJ declared proudly. “So I’ve taken it upon myself to extend to you an invitation—”

“No,” said Seung Gil. He tried to step right past him, to no avail.

“Sorry, but you don’t have a choice,” JJ said amicably, linking their arms. “All the skaters are going out for dinner tonight.”

Seung Gil looked to his coach.

“Everything you do is for Pyeongchang,” she said. “Including PR.” She lowered her voice. “You know what they’re saying about you on SNS. It wouldn’t kill you to make some friends, Seung Gil.”

It appeared he did not have a choice after all.

 

-

 

Loud. That was his first impression of his first social gathering in years, and of JJ himself. He sat at a corner of the table, ducking gracefully out of Phichit Chulanont’s selfies and less gracefully out of JJ’s arm that kept snaking around his shoulder. “We’re buddies now, you and me,” JJ kept saying to him, words slurred from the alcohol. “Friends for life.” Victor Nikiforov began stripping about ten minutes in and was all over a red-faced Katsuki Yuuri at the fifteen-minute mark. Phichit and Guang-Hong Ji were taking photos of the two and competing to see who could get more likes on Instagram. To top it all off, JJ literally got on the table and began to dance _to his own theme song_ while everyone cheered, giving Seung Gil a perfect view of his admittedly perfect ass. (Look, the rainbow colouring of Seung Gil’s skating costume had been more than just a fashion statement.) Christophe Giacometti, who seemed to agree with this opinion, grabbed it on more than one occasion. To cope with this trainwreck of a night, Seung Gil chugged as much alcohol as he needed to make him not want to murder everyone in his presence, which turned out to be way too much.

When the night was finally over, he stood up, and swayed dramatically.

“You’re drunk,” JJ remarked bluntly, catching him at the waist. “Let me walk you back to your room.” He probably loved this image of himself, being such a gentleman. Seung Gil rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight him off.

That was the cliché story of how the night ended with the two of them in Seung Gil’s hotel room. “Wow,” JJ said, gazing around with false curiosity. “Nice place.” His gaze shifted to the bed.

“Don’t we all have the same room,” Seung Gil pointed out.

JJ ignored him. “A king-sized bed. Nice.” He hopped on, right next to Seung Gil. The bed dipped precariously.

“Why are you like this?” Seung Gil blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Be more specific,” JJ said with a grin. “Why am I such a talented skater? Why do I have such a great personality? Why am I so irresistible?”

“More like why won’t you leave me alone.”

“Because you have no friends. It’s no good to be alone all the time.” Condescending, Seung Gil noted yet again with a snort. But there was a genuine look in his eye.

“Neither does Yuri Plisetsky,” Seung Gil countered, “and I don’t see you walking him up to his hotel room.”

“He’s not legal,” JJ says, an eyebrow arching high. “And he’s not my type.”

The tension shifted. The gaze between them suddenly changed in meaning. In the dim lamplight of the hotel room, Seung Gil could appreciate the perfect cut of his jaw, the soft outlines of his eyes.

He remembered the arm around his shoulder. The front-row seat to JJ’s dance. He’d chalked it up to JJ’s personality, his overt friendliness and complete disregard of personal boundaries. Only now, as the haze of alcohol opened up the doors to the haze of desire that had perhaps been there all along, did he finally understand.

“And I am?” says Seung Gil.

“ _Now_ you’re getting it,” says JJ.

 

-

 

So some way or another that led to where he is now, watching JJ get back up on his feet, lips pink and wet. Seung Gil tugs him in for a heated, hungry kiss which is more like a crash of mouths than anything. He can taste himself, but it’s somehow a turn on, a reminder of what had just happened, and their mouths break apart only to allow enough space for all the unnecessary layers of clothing between them to come off.

He tugs JJ’s pants and boxers down in one swift gesture. JJ doesn’t need direction, simply rolls himself over and arches his butt in the air, winking over his shoulder at Seung Gil.

“Like what you see?”

“Why,” says Seung Gil, “do you have a tramp stamp of your own name.” _More importantly,_ he thinks but doesn’t say, _why is that somehow strangely attractive._

“Would you rather it be yours?” JJ inquires.

“No,” Seung Gil replies, running his hands up and down JJ’s body. His skin is hot, in more ways than one. He squeezes his ass, liking how firm it is, and liking the contrast of his own paler hands on JJ’s tanned skin. “I can leave marks on you in other ways.”

“Well shit,” JJ says, barely stifling a groan. “You don’t talk much, but you sure know how to talk dirty.”

Seung Gil smiles, and dips a finger in between his ass cheeks. JJ lets out a shaky huff of breath. “You got any lube?” Seung Gil asks.

“In my bag,” JJ says. Then adds, “Pick your favourite flavour. My treat.”

Suppressing a roll of his eyes—who the hell carried that much lube with them, even if they were hoping to get lucky—Seung Gil opens the bag and looks. “Seriously?” He snatches the first one he sees, not dawdling to read the label. He’s not going to be tasting it anyway, not with what he wants to do tonight. There are condoms, too, and he tears the wrapper off one and rolls it onto his cock. Then he spreads JJ’s cheeks apart, pushing a slick finger into his hole.

JJ is about as vocal as Seung Gil expected. Seung Gil likes it more than he expected. He could stay here like this forever, stretching out JJ’s hole with his fingers, relishing the noises that escape from JJ’s mouth, stroking JJ’s cock, a considerable size, hard and leaking with precome.

Or, you know, he could fuck him.

“Ready?” he asks as he lubes up his cock, more out of consideration than anything, seeing how JJ looks like he’s been waiting for this for a long while.

“I was born ready,” JJ declares.

Seung Gil rolls his eyes, and pushes in, and then his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. Jesus Christ, it feels _good._ The moan that JJ lets out is downright pornographic. Seung Gil is unable to hold back, driving his hips relentlessly into the tight heat, spurred on by the way JJ’s body responds perfectly to his every action, every sound— back arching, shuddering, as he pushes himself back onto Seung Gil’s cock. He finds himself getting close sooner than he would’ve thought, and as soon as JJ comes with a cry, tightening around him, he topples over the edge, biting down on JJ’s shoulder, vision blinded with white-hot pleasure.

Sated, spent, he pulls out and ties the condom, lazily tossing it into the trash. He rolls over and lies next to JJ.

“Technical and performance, full marks,” he mumbles to himself, feeling satisfied. “Points deduction: talks too much.”

JJ, still dazed, appears not to have heard. His hand drops from where it was rubbing his shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing,” says Seung Gil.

The two of them catch their breath. Seung Gil probably should’ve kicked JJ out then, but he doesn’t, and when JJ’s back to normal again he drapes an arm around Seung Gil’s shoulder and tells him his entire life story, from how he was the handsomest baby ever born, to how his love of the ice began when he was only four, to how much he loves his parents, to how even though he loves the ice he’s upset that he’s been too busy skating to catch up on Stranger Things, which is a TV show, apparently. Seung Gil falls asleep somewhere between the story of his parents and the story of the TV show. In his trancelike dream, he admits to himself that JJ isn’t so bad after all. “I like you,” he tells JJ. JJ laughs, and the sound is nice. “Yeah?” he says. “I really like you, too.”

 

-

 

It was, by all definitions, a one-night stand, but JJ’s friendliness didn’t stop there. He somehow wormed his way into Seung Gil’s life, beginning with the phone number that had inexplicably appeared in Seung Gil’s phone under the name ‘King JJ’, with a shirtless selfie attached (taken, Seung Gil noted with an eye roll, in Seung Gil’s own hotel bed). He texted too often, with too many emojis. He skyped sometimes with no explanation and no plausible cause, and always at the most random times— before training, after training, while hiking, on an outing with friends. But he never called when Seung Gil was asleep, he noticed. Whether it was sheer coincidence or an actual regard for time difference, he didn’t care enough to find out.

 

-

 

During the off season he headed to Canada for a few days to attend his cousin’s wedding. Really, he only needed to go for a day, but he liked the place. He’d gone once for a skating competition, and it was nice. Or so he told himself.

“You’ve never missed more than a day of training, even in the off season,” his coach remarked.

“I’ll run for two hours every morning,” he replied.

He texted JJ to announce his arrival minutes before he got on the plane and then didn’t check his phone afterwards.

Sure enough, JJ came to pick him up at the airport in an obnoxious red car that fit his personality. He had a number of bumper stickers on the back, most of which were just variations of his own name, and one of which was a pride flag. They couldn’t go over to JJ’s place, he explained, because his parents and siblings were likely to be home. As soon as they reached Seung Gil’s hotel room they crashed into one another and landed, fumbling desperately, on the bed. A number of minutes later they were drenched in sweat and other things, and JJ was telling Seung Gil about the parts of his life story he’d left out the first time with an arm thrown over his shoulder, and Seung Gil allowed himself to close his eyes and accept that maybe he’d missed this a lot more than he thought he did. JJ still talked too much, though.

 

-

 

Seung Gil didn’t expect to see much of JJ, but in between volunteer work and spending time with his family, JJ somehow made ample time for him. In those several days they fucked a lot, and went out together once or twice. JJ mentioned a museum he should see but Seung Gil didn’t really care to understand art, so they went to a port. He could understand the water, appreciate its silence, the steady rippling of the surface. It was a gloomy day, and the water was the colour of JJ’s eyes. They walked around after that, JJ looking at shops he’d seen all his life with enthusiasm and Seung Gil tagging along with vague interest. JJ treated him to a beaver tail, an invitation he was horrified by and vehemently turned down until he realized they were not tails of actual beavers, but pastries. It was good. He’d always had a sweet tooth.

“I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” JJ said with an unnecessary eyebrow waggle. Then he proceeded to take advantage of this fact when they got back to the hotel by proposing that Seung Gil lick some authentic maple syrup off his body. “What’s better than this,” he said. “Sweet syrup on a sweet bod.”

“No,” said Seung Gil.

“It’s a Canadian sex custom,” JJ insisted. “When you come to a foreign country you have to respect their customs, didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

“I’m not stupid,” said Seung Gil.

He did it anyway.

 

-

 

The talking after sex thing becomes a custom. Or more accurately, JJ talks while Seung Gil watches his lips move, listening to approximately one-third of what he says.

The night before his flight back to Korea, JJ looks at him, a gleam in his eye. “You know, it’s weird. We never go on dates or anything other than have sex.” Seung Gil should’ve realized it then, but he assumed maybe it was a Canadian thing to refer to hanging out as a date. “What do you say we go for poutine tomorrow?”

“What’s that?”

JJ gasps, affronted. “You’ve never had poutine?”

“...No.”

“It’s the best thing you’ll ever taste, trust me. Perfectly cut french fries, thick, creamy gravy, and then,” JJ clenches his fist and makes a passionate face, “ _cheese,_ the most delicious cheese you will ever—”

“Gross,” Seung Gil says. “Why would you put gravy and cheese on fries?”

“How _dare_ you,” JJ says, drawing his arm back from where it rested over Seung Gil’s shoulder. “You come into _my_ house—”

“This is my hotel room.”

“You come into _my_ house and you insult all that is holy. I’m breaking up with you.”

Seung Gil blinks. “Breaking up? We’re not going out.”

“Ha ha,” JJ points a finger at him, smiling. “Very funny. You’re pulling the ‘I’m breaking up with you first’ card. Nobody breaks up with King JJ!”

Seung Gil raises an eyebrow. “We’re not dating.”

It’s then that JJ’s face changes completely. The look lasts for an infinitesimally short time, a fraction of a second, but it imprints itself on Seung Gil’s mind forever, because he’s never seen JJ look like that before.

And then his face changes again, into a wry smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, so you don’t want to try poutine. That’s fine.” He hops off the bed, pulls on his boxers and the rest of his clothes. “Well, I’m hungry, so I’m going home for dinner.” His steps are brisk, cold, as he walks out the door, and slams it. The sound rings in Seung Gil’s ears.

He’s not stupid. He knows JJ is angry. A coldness sets into his bones as every single minute he’s spent with JJ flashes before his eyes. The ever-present arm around his shoulder. The calm of the water, the sweetness of the beaver tail. The scene so surreal he’d convinced himself it was a dream— the drunken _‘I like you,’_ and the _‘Yeah? I really like you, too,’_ that might not have been so drunken after all.

So. Yeah. They might have actually been going out all this time.

 

-

 

“Fuck,” says Seung Gil, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

-

 

He’s been told he’s too prideful. That was by his mom. Other less supportive and less blood-related people have told him he has a stick up his ass. He’s never listened or given it any thought until now, twelve hours later after a fitful, sleepless night spent convincing himself that _how was he supposed to know_ ? Watching the sun come up out the window, he realizes that he kind of _was_ supposed to know. It wasn’t every day people took you around the city and handed out free fucks and told you their life story with their arm draped their arm over your shoulder like it fit there.

He texts JJ, too sleep deprived to talk himself out of it. He doesn’t get a response. He calls— the first time in years he’s called anyone other than his coach and his mother— and JJ doesn’t pick up. Growing increasingly antsy and desperate, he tries to recall what mutual friends the two of them have and realizes he’s never bothered to get the numbers of any of the other skaters. He vaguely recalls himself thinking there wouldn’t be any benefit in being friendly with them, which actually turned out to be true, because look where being friendly with JJ got him?

So he calls his coach to hook him up with somebody who can hook him up with the number of JJ. The first person to come to mind is Christophe. He supposes his mind subconsciously associates obnoxious people with one another. Asides from his coach asking him why the hell he wants to talk to Christophe of all people, it turns out to be a horrible decision— Christophe agrees to call JJ for him so long as Seung Gil agrees to invite him to their wedding. So he hangs up on Christophe and decides to go with a safer option. Someone who wouldn’t make fun of him.

Katsuki Yuri picks up after five rings. “Hello?”

He sounds surprised when it’s Seung Gil, and so does Victor Nikiforov, making an amused sound somewhere in close proximity to Yuuri. The faint rustling of fabric suggests a night of intimacy between the two.

“Did I interrupt,” Seung Gil says, “something.”

“No, we’re finished for tonight,” Victor says airily.

Seung Gil explains the situation as concisely as he can.

“Of course, I’ll be glad to call him for you and explain everything,” Yuuri says.

“No, no,” Victor says, voice faint in the background. “JJ’s not going to want to see him, Yuuri. You have to make up a good excuse. Tell him you have a beautiful female friend who also happens to be a fan, who wants to meet up with him.”

“Oh!” Yuuri sounds pleasantly surprised. “That’s a good idea.”

Listening to their banter and soft chuckling, Seung Gil wonders, for the first time, what that would be like, being so comfortable, so at peace with their affections for one another. To talk about love on TV, to kiss in the public eye, to be on the phone with their fellow competitor without disguising the fact that they were in bed together.

Yuuri sets up a date for Seung Gil and JJ at a Tim Hortons near the airport, two hours before Seung Gil’s departure.

 

-

 

The street in front of Tim Hortons is busy, but Seung Gil knows JJ when he sees him, and calls the clenching in his chest what it is. He’s man enough to admit that much. Before he can talk himself out of it, he walks up to him, suitcase trailing loudly behind him.

“It’s you,” JJ says. He sounds only marginally surprised. “I had a hunch, but I didn’t think you were friends with Yuuri.”

“Yeah. It’s me,” is all Seung Gil can say. His throat is sort of clogged up.

“So?” JJ says, casually. “What is it?” His eyes are obscured by sunglasses, an uncharacteristically low-key thing for him to wear out in public. Seung Gil feels a twang of guilt.

He sighs. “I’m an asshole.”

One of JJ’s arched eyebrows quirks up. He pushes his sunglasses up, lets them rest in his hair. His eyes are steel. “Did you call me here just to say that? Because that’s not news to me,” JJ says.

“Savage,” whispers some passerby in the back. Seung Gil ignores it. He doesn’t even know what that means. He’s not that good at English.

He tries again. “Look, there’s a reason I don’t have friends.” Wow, he should just _listen_ to himself, spewing this shit he’d never dreamed he would say. “I don’t know how to read people, or interact with them. All my life I figured all I needed to do was keep my eyes on the gold. Because of that, I was blind to what was important to me.” His breath leaves his throat in a puff of cold air. “I’m sorry.”

It honestly is a testament to how fucked up he’s been over this whole thing because he would never have said that, ever, under any other circumstances. JJ knows it, too. He sees the moment when the icy look in his eyes begins to thaw.

“What I’m trying to say is.” Seung Gil swallows, and forces it out. “I’d like to try poutine with you.”

JJ’s eyes go wide, and for a breathless second— two, three— he says nothing. And then he laughs. It sounds like music to Seung Gil’s ears.

“Is that supposed to be romantic?” he says, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes,” says Seung Gil, and then he grabs JJ by the collar, and kisses him. He tastes sweet, like maple syrup, and warm, a pleasant buzz reminiscent of alcohol spreading through his lungs. His undercut is rough but the rest of his hair, tangled in Seung Gil’s fingers, is soft, and Seung Gil memorizes these details and decides never to let them go.

 

-

 

He cancels his plane ticket back to Korea, and extends his hotel stay.

 

-

 

As it turns out, dating JJ is simultaneously less and more than he bargained for.

The first change is that they go public. They did kiss in the public eye, after all— a photo snapped by a passerby at that exact moment goes viral within minutes. JJ himself takes a commemorative selfie with Seung Gil later that day at the Tim Hortons, and uploads it to his Instagram with the hashtag  _#itsjjseungstyle_ and a caption that makes their relationship status very clear. “It’s always best to talk about yourself before they talk about you,” he explains.

Seung Gil points to the hashtag.  “Why is your name first? Why is only half of my name in there?”

“Because I’m the best. And also, for the aesthetic.”

A week later JJ is offered a sponsorship by Tim Hortons.

The fans talk about them a lot. Mostly good things. “I knew it! The rainbow feather duster outfit was our first clue,” tweets a passionate fan.

Seung Gil scowls. “How dare they. That outfit was a work of art.”

“It’s alright,” JJ says, giving him a pat on the back. “I’m plenty fashionable for the both of us. And besides, I’ve always told you you look better naked.”

Their fellow ice skaters react with varying levels of enthusiasm. Michele Crispino is relieved that Seung Gil won’t steal Sara away from him, which Seung Gil had zero intention of doing, anyway. Christophe insists repeatedly that they must invite him to their wedding, and JJ agrees so long as he doesn’t grope Seung Gil’s ass. Phichit photoshops that signature picture of himself making a surprised face, originally seen with Victor and Yuuri, onto a photo of Seung Gil and JJ and declares himself captain of the ship.

And then there’s JJ himself.

“Good news, babe. I talked to the same band who did ‘Theme of King J.J.’,” he tells Seung Gil, grabbing his hand. “I asked them to do a song about us. And they agreed!”

“I didn’t,” Seung Gil deadpans.

A couple days later, JJ gifts Seung Gil with matching T-shirts with their faces printed on it.

“What do you think,” JJ says, wearing the obnoxiously bright-coloured shirt, cocking his hip to the side and striking a pose. “Will you wear it with me? Will you wear our love for the whole world to see?”

“Gross,” says Seung Gil. A couple hours later he uses it to wipe the cum off JJ’s stomach. A couple weeks later it’s washed and folded neatly in his suitcase, and he brings it back to Korea with him and wears it to bed every night.

But yeah, as for the rest, everything kind of stays the same. The shirtless selfie in his phone stays. He wakes up one morning and fails to find ‘King JJ’ under his contacts until he realizes JJ’s contact name has inexplicably become ‘Babe.’ JJ still texts too often, with too many emojis that Seung Gil catches himself smiling at. “I didn’t know you could smile,” his coach tells him with genuine surprise. And yeah, JJ still skypes sometimes with no explanation and no plausible cause, but he doesn’t need one. And he never calls when Seung Gil is asleep.

Sometimes, he gets texts like, _Send nudes ;)_. If he tells JJ he’s showering, he’ll get things like, _Wish I was there ;) ;)_ to which he’ll reply, _yeah same,_ to which JJ will send a series of 20 blushing emojis and a _u kinky mofo!!_ Not that Seung Gil knows what that means.

The next time he’s in Canada, a few months later, they finally go on their poutine date. Seung Gil stares down the plate of fries, coated in thick sauce and covered with cheese curds, as if it’s his mortal enemy.

“No pressure,” JJ says. “But if you don’t like it I’m really breaking up with you.”

Seung Gil scoops a bite into his mouth, and the whole world rearranges itself, because it’s actually _delicious._

He looks at JJ, who’s watching him expectantly and quietly, which, as Seung Gil is coming to learn, is actually not so uncharacteristic of him. Yeah, he’s loud, boisterous, has no sense of personal boundaries, but he’s also perceptive, caring, and surprisingly sensitive. He’s good at sucking dick, looks exquisite spread out under Seung Gil, but he looks even better like this— chin propped up on an elbow, stray hair sticking up, eyes relaxed and jawline illuminated by the sunlight coming in from the window.

“I like it,” says Seung Gil.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! pls come talk to me about jjseung on my twitter @redbeantofu / my tumblr @toumaki <3
> 
> EDIT: i drew [a thing](https://twitter.com/redbeantofu/status/802732123375316992)


End file.
